


your biggest fan

by soldouthaz



Series: drabbles [6]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Louis, Come Eating, Dirty Talk, First Time, Jock Harry, Locker Room Sex, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Nerd Louis, Oral Sex, PWP, Shy Louis, Size Kink, Top Harry, Virgin Louis, Will I stop?, am I oversharing in the tags?, but if that bothers you in any way, footie captain harry, just go with it, no, please don't read, slight dubious consent, slight humiliation, so they are legal and also the same age, they are both in their last year of 'high school', this is purely self indulgent please don't yell at me, very very minor dubcon elements, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:08:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26228434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldouthaz/pseuds/soldouthaz
Summary: Just like everyone else, Louis has a few habits that he can’t seem to break. Guilty pleasures, rather. His nails are perpetually short because he can’t quit biting them, the bottom of his shoes scuffed from tapping his foot constantly. Sometimes his leg gets a cramp from bouncing it so often underneath his desk. That isn't too bad, he reckons, just some average teenage coping mechanisms.And also, occasionally, minor instances of theft.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: drabbles [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1670983
Comments: 82
Kudos: 577





	your biggest fan

**Author's Note:**

> if you've read the tags I think you've sufficiently been warned, but I'll restate it here: H/L are both in the UK equivalent of their senior year of high school, meaning that they are both legal as well as the same age in this fic. it's very self indulgent and not serious in the slightest so please just enjoy and come find me if you have any further questions :) 
> 
> This fic was beta'ed by the amazing and wonderful ris [falsegoodnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsegoodnight/pseuds/falsegoodnight) who I will never be able to fully thank for always helping me and being my cheerleader and supporting me when I decide I want to write something that absolutely no one asked for <3

+

The night of the last footie game for his school, Louis watches from behind the fence just like he always does. 

It isn’t exactly an ideal view, obstructed by the stands and the people standing around the grass, but he’ll take what he can get. They’re all graduating in just a few days anyway. Plus, he’s more than used to it at this point. 

He’s dressed in all black, a thick hoodie falling to his thighs over his leggings, the only other color his white vans buried in the tall grass below his feet. Louis’ fingers grip onto the wires of the fence in front of him, peering through until he can see who he’s looking for. 

With all of the cheering, it doesn’t take long. His eyes track the movement as Harry Styles jogs back out onto the field with a beaming smirkish-smile, clad in the Cheshire team colors, fresh from the locker room after the brief halftime. Louis gulps and slides his glasses further up his nose where they’d fallen. He looks just like he always does but, even after all these years, Louis seems to lose his breath. 

Once he sees the rest of the team spill out after Harry, he backs away from where he’d been standing and rounds the corner. The locker room will be blissfully empty now. If he’s right, Louis should be back out in time to see him win just like they always do. 

Louis is a good guy, objectively. He’s never committed any crimes, never snuck out of his house or smoked or drank or been to a party. All throughout school he’d spent more time studying than anything else, always his teacher’s favorite. 

But just like everyone else, Louis has a few habits that he can’t seem to break. Guilty pleasures, rather. His nails are perpetually short because he can’t quit biting them, the bottom of his shoes scuffed from tapping his foot constantly. Sometimes his leg gets a cramp from bouncing it so often underneath his desk. That isn't too bad, he reckons, just some average teenage coping mechanisms. 

And also, occasionally, minor instances of theft. 

Which is something he _knows_ is wrong, but it’s not like he’s _hurting_ anyone. It’s just - growing up as a lonely nerd who wore glasses, made full marks, and was into other guys, he never had the easiest time in school. His life played out most days like the side character of some poorly directed teen movie, the nerd that was pushed around by all of the jocks. 

His problem lies precisely there. While he never enjoyed being directly made fun of, there’s someone on the footie team that drives his heart rate up and makes his palms sweat. He hardly gives Louis the time of day but it doesn’t seem to stop him daydreaming about it in his classes, wishing he’d come and theatrically declare his love in front of all of their peers, then they’d ride off into the sunset and all of the people who made fun of him before would beg for his forgiveness.

Louis’ not an idiot, though. Realistically, his standards are much lower. His entire week becomes brighter if Harry even glances in his direction. Once, a year or two ago, Harry asked him for a pencil. Louis couldn’t stop smiling the rest of the day, even when people pointed it out. He’s more than satisfied with flying under the radar and only having Harry in his dreams. 

… And here, in the locker room. 

The door is always left propped open slightly because no one’s bothered to fix the faulty lock over the years. Sneaking in through it, Louis’ eyes fall across all of the laundry strewn across the floor, the unzipped bags on benches, the lockers left open. They don’t linger. Gingerly stepping over the mess, Louis tiptoes toward the very back of the room where he knows Harry’s locker is. 

A familiar path, it’s more private than any of the other areas. Then again, Louis figures, Harry is the captain. The captain who would be unbelievably angry if he ever caught Louis rifling through his personal things. 

He still remembers the first time he’d ever done this. It’d been years ago now, right after he’d gotten his glasses. As a yearbook assignment he’d had to go and interview some of the footie team and get their picture. Harry had been the only one who even talked to him, if only just for a few seconds during practice. He posed for a picture quickly while everyone else trampled over Louis, then told him to make up whatever he wanted for the interview, but to make it sound nice. Then - _then_ , he winked at him. Louis found out a lot about himself that year. 

After his first page on them had been so good, he’d been asked to do more, much to his dismay. Hesitantly, he’d returned only to find an empty locker room. Louis explored while he could, roaming around to find things he could write about when he made it to the back wall with STYLES written across the locker on an endearing homemade sign. 

It hadn’t even crossed his mind when he peeled it open and peeked inside, when he reached a hand in to touch his jersey and sweatshirt. The team had flooded back in after practice and Louis pretended he’d just been waiting on the bench. 

But then he’d gone back. Every game night he would watch Harry play the first half, sneak in the back to get in the locker room, then head back out once it was dark just in time to see Harry make the winning goal. In some twisted way, it makes him proud to watch him do so well. 

He learned long ago not to attend games publically, the feeling of nacho cheese being poured over his head and the weeks it took to clean the sauce out of his glasses frames still vivid in his teenage memory. Plus, he hadn’t wanted Harry to feel uncomfortable knowing that he was there, if he was watching him a bit too closely or anyone happened to notice. So he sticks to cheering him on in private. 

Now all of it feels like second nature to him. For years he’s been stealing one of Harry’s shirts to take home with him, washing it, and returning it for another. Harry still never fails to leave his things out. Louis wonders if he’s noticed or if he assumes it’s just a teammate or something. 

Louis reaches into the bag on his hip to retrieve the freshly cleaned jersey, an identical copy of his other two that he keeps for backup during a game. This one is Louis’ favorite though, smelling more like him than the others and thinner, like it’s been worn too much in the past. There’s sharpie lines on the tag that have bled together over time but Louis can remember when it was clearly branded _H.S._. 

Sometimes he doesn’t do anything more than sleep in them. Touch starved after nineteen lonely years, it feels nice just to act like he has a boyfriend that’s loaned him something to sleep in. He ignores how sad the thought is. 

Other times, Louis does… _other things_ with them. Private things, like holding them close to his face while his other hand is busy, buried in it and consumed by the scent, face down and arse up with his door locked. Things he’d never admit to _anyone_. 

It makes him feel dirty sometimes and occasionally he cries afterward, but he doesn’t really think that’s anyone’s business but his own. Then he gets up, showers, throws Harry’s jersey in the wash and prepares it in his bag for next time. 

This particular evening is bittersweet because there won’t _be_ a next time anymore. This is the last game of the season and if he takes anything now, he won’t be able to return it to him. Louis isn’t actually a thief, no matter how much he wants to hold onto his clothes and never let them go. 

He’s just hormonal, he tells himself, though he knows it’s much more than that. Harry’d been the one that made him realize the things he liked both platonically and in other ways, without even really meaning to do so. Louis’ fantasies began to feature him as a result. Guilt used to follow him in the hallways every time they’d pass each other, but it isn’t nearly as bad now. 

Lifting the jersey from his bag to hold up in front of him, a smile twitches on his lips. As absurd as it sounds, this has become his safe space. It’s private and intimate and as close as Louis thinks he’s probably ever going to get to actual physical affection. 

Outside, the cheering stops. With a brow furrowed, Louis glances back up toward the direction of the door, unable to see it for the line of lockers in between. There’s an announcement and Louis hears Styles and penalty several times but he can’t make out much else. 

Snapping back to his task, he looks down at the shirt again, lip bitten between his teeth. Would Harry _really_ notice if it was gone? He’s got two others. And it’s so soft and warm, falling to his thighs and the perfect thing to sleep in at night. Louis’ going to miss it if he puts it back. 

He’s still busy debating when the door to the locker room slams abruptly shut, _hard_. Louis holds his breath as his head snaps upward - that door hasn’t been properly shut in years. 

“Unbelievable,” someone scoffs from a distance, kicking one of the metal lockers loudly with their foot. 

Louis’ eyes go wide and his heart stutters in his chest, wincing at the loud noise. There’s no way he would leave a game unless they’d made him, which is rare. His mind flickers back to the penalty, to the sound of people booing. He thinks he’s going to be sick. 

“Can’t _fucking_ believe this,” Louis hears Harry mutter from the other side of the lockers. 

From where he’s standing, there’s no exit. It’s a dead-end on all sides except the one in front of him, the one he can hear Harry’s footsteps approaching from. Louis’ head whips back and forth but there isn’t anything to hide behind. A bench and a pile of clothes in the corner, but nothing he can make do with quickly. 

He can feel a panic attack coming on in the way he’s freezing up, his hands shaking where he’s still clutching Harry’s shirt. And, oh _God_ , he’s going to die, isn’t he? Before he even graduates, before he gets to go to uni. Before he’s even _kissed_ anyone. 

Harry rounds the corner quickly, his stance brooding and ultimately terrifying. Fists clenched and jaw set, Louis can only stare open mouthed at his cleats, unable to even form a sentence, much less look him in the eye. He’s been caught. He’s been caught stealing from a very big, very strong, very angry athlete and he’s absolutely going to die. 

It’s quiet for a moment. Louis loses track of counting his heartbeats because they move too fast. He can hear himself swallow dryly. 

“You’re the one that’s been stealing my clothes,” Harry says flatly. 

Unfortunately, because apparently he’s incapable of self control, tears spring to his eyes as if to remind him how emotional, how sensitive he is. In the past he’d thought the size difference between them was endearing. Right now, he’s just scared. 

Harry’s going to beat him to a pulp. It would be out of character for him since he always seems so nice, always polite to teachers and other students, but Louis wouldn’t be surprised. In fact, he thinks at this point he probably deserves it. 

The lenses on his glasses fog up so much that he can’t even see Harry anymore in the dark locker room, but his breathing is still fast and irritated. Louis tries to say something, to apologize, to at the very least give him back his shirt, but nothing happens. He shakes and quivers and stutters, the sound of everyone outside ringing in his ears. 

“You’ve been stealing my clothes,” he repeats in a different tone, like he’s finally realized something, stepping closer. 

Sniffling, Louis wipes at his nose and straightens up, forcing himself to take responsibility for his actions. There’s nowhere to run - Harry could take him down in under a second and he’s still blocking the exit anyway. 

With a shaky inhale, Louis puts his chin to his chest and nods very quickly, halfway hoping Harry will miss it. At his admission Harry laughs, but his face is still set in anger. Louis whimpers. 

“You know what’s funny,” he seethes, stepping even closer, “I always thought it was you. And the crazy thing is - I didn’t even care. I mean, fuck, if you want to do my laundry for me then go right ahead,” Harry scoffs. 

His eyes move downward to where Louis’ still gripping his jersey tightly in his hand between them. 

“But you know what that jersey is, don’t you,” he asks. 

“N-no,” Louis says, his voice high and glasses slipping again from the sweat. 

“That’s my _lucky_ jersey, Louis. You always have it returned to me when I need it but not this time,” Harry tuts. “And do you see what happens when I don’t have it? I’m not allowed to play the rest of the game. The _championship_ game, Louis.” 

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” he shakes his head, holding it out for Harry to take his clothes back. “I - I didn’t mean to.” 

He chuckles again quietly. Harry stares hard at the jersey for a minute before he inhales deeply, seeming torn. Shaking his own head, he takes one step backward and grimaces. 

“Doesn’t matter now anyway. My team is out there and I’m -” Harry spins, slamming a dramatic hand down onto a locker beside Louis’ head. 

Louis winces, then curses at himself for noticing the way Harry’s arms have bulged out from underneath the soaked-through undershirt after he’d angrily torn off his other jersey. He catches his lip in his mouth again to force himself to focus. Harry is visibly upset, and he’s lucky it’d been the locker and not him that’d received the punch. He’s got to play his cards right. If he can talk him down, maybe he could just slip out. 

“I’m - I’m sorry. I’ll go,” Louis whispers, setting the jersey down on the bench and heading for the door. 

“No you don’t,” Harry mutters, grabbing his arm before he can round the corner. 

This is it, Louis thinks. He really isn’t looking forward to having to pay for replacement lenses again. If he can even get up off the floor after this, he muses nervously. 

Instead of punching him though, Harry pulls him around roughly and turns his back to the lockers, backing him into them until he’s cornered. Louis’ pictured this exact scene a thousand times but not quite like this - more passion instead of the crackling rage, but he’ll have to make do. His heart jumps into his throat all over again. 

“You don’t get to just get away with this. You make me lose the championship, you’re going to make it up to me.” 

“What-” Louis gulps, “what do you want me to do?” 

“I’m not an idiot, Louis,” Harry smirks devilishly, “You think I don’t know why you’ve been taking them from me?” He hums, nosing up the side of Louis’ neck, “You think I don’t know what you do with my clothes?” 

Breath catching, Louis goes to apologize again but nothing comes out. He hadn’t thought he’d been that obvious, but maybe he’s just that predictable. The sad little nerd with a crush on the captain of the footie team. His lower lip wobbles. 

“It’s not that difficult to figure out, really. You take them out of my locker dirty, smelling of me. Then, somehow, they come back perfectly clean. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? That I'd think you were just doing some research for your little columns?” 

Harry grabs him by the chin to make him look up, speaking so close to him that their lips brush. Louis wonders if he’s allowed to count this as a kiss. 

“C’mon, Louis,” he purrs, voice hoarse, “you’re a smart boy, yeah?” 

Before he can really kiss him, Harry’s moving away to press a kiss to his neck, teeth coming down afterward to suck hard until Louis can feel the blood rushing to the spot. For a second he gets lost in it, hand coming to rest lightly on the outside of his arm, but he snaps out of it relatively quickly. 

“H- Harry, wait,” he wraps a small fist in Harry’s shirt to try to stop him. 

Between one breath and the next, Harry draws away from him and Louis thinks it's all over. But all he does is reach behind himself to pick up the jersey again, turning back to Louis after he does. 

“Put it on.” 

“What,” Louis breathes, hand clutched to his chest to calm his breathing embarrassingly. 

“Put. My jersey. On,” Harry articulates, already tugging at Louis’ hoodie. 

Stuttering, Louis lets him tug it up and over his shoulders along with his thin t-shirt underneath. His arms come down quickly across his chest and his stomach, ashamed to be standing next to Harry with the way his hips jut out awkwardly, the dip in his waist all too obvious while the evidence of Harry’s strict workout routine can already be obviously seen through his shirt. 

His eyes linger around Louis’ midsection and his gaze goes a bit darker. There isn’t any more time for him to cower away because Harry’s sliding his jersey onto him. 

Grabbing his own elbow with his other hand, Louis keeps his eyes down while he waits for some kind of a reaction. He’d thought maybe this was a sexual thing but now he’s wondering if Harry’s just going to humiliate him, just wanted him in the jersey first so he could tell him how much he hates him. 

But then Harry kisses him, and he reconsiders. He struggles to keep up with the harsh suction of Harry’s lips, the nick of his teeth on Louis’ soft skin. It’s obvious how experienced he is as if Louis hadn’t already known that, hadn’t dreamed about all of the things Harry could teach him if given the chance. 

Harry digs his thumbs into the waist of Louis’ leggings and begins working them down his legs, bending down and nipping at Louis’ thighs as he goes. He steadies himself on Harry’s shoulders, blinking rapidly at his fast pace. 

“Gonna give you what you want,” Harry grunts. “What you’ve wanted for four years now.” 

Before he can catch his balance properly Harry’s lifting him into the air, swinging around to set him down on the bench. He fumbles with his athletic tights and his boxers, peeling them away from his skin quickly to reveal his cock, nearly spanning the entire length of Louis’ face. 

“What are you -” 

“Looks so good on you, baby,” Harry talks over him, stroking a hand over his prick. “The way it just - _fuck_ \- hangs off of you. Wanna fuck your mouth. Will you let me, baby?” 

Earlier Louis felt kind of overwhelmed by the situation but now that he’s been offered a choice, he pauses to consider. This may be the only time he ever gets to have Harry how he’s always wanted to. This is the only time he’s ever had his full attention for more than a few minutes and he feels drunk, hazy with it already. 

“Yeah,” he nods, chancing a look up at him. “Y-yes, please.” 

“Good boy,” Harry grins. 

Wasting no time, Harry strokes a hand over his exposed cock until it’s fully hard. He cups the side of Louis’ head gently in contrast with his movements, guiding the head of his prick to eager and hesitant lips. Louis grips the wood of the bench harshly and tries to keep his breathing even, scrambles to think of everything he’s ever seen online to try to remember what not to do. If he messes this up he’s definitely going to cry. 

Then again, he figures it doesn’t much matter. Louis might as well try to enjoy himself as much as he can because after tonight, there’s no more school. No more gossip or rumors, no going back. Even if Harry makes fun of him he won’t ever hear about it. 

It doesn’t really change the fact that he doesn’t want Harry to think badly of him. Louis licks over his lips that’d been dry from the cold night air and takes a deep breath, his mouth parting around an anxious sigh when Harry paints the head of his cock over them, precome glistening in the moonlight from the skinny window. 

For a moment, deep panic sets into him and he freezes, Harry’s cock already halfway into his mouth. He chokes around it and Harry shushes him, pulling back slightly. Slower this time, he inches back inside and Louis forces himself to relax. 

At some point he closes his eyes and just feels. He’s got no idea what he’s doing and he hopes that Harry can’t tell, but he’s grateful that Harry’s taken it upon himself to set the pace. He fucks in and out of Louis’ mouth much slower than he’d have thought he would, groaning low in his throat as he languidly draws his chiseled hips backwards and forwards. 

It’s hot in the locker room. Louis’ sweating already and Harry is too, after playing nearly an entire game. His grip on Louis’ skin is slick and his hand slips off several times as he cups Louis’ face, his shoulder, his head as he really begins to get into it. 

When he opens his eyes again he gains some confidence back, able to see just how much Harry’s affected. It could just be from the game but Louis’ going to pretend it’s all from him, the way Harry’s chest is flushed red and his muscles are tense. 

His gaze falls to the large tattoo on Harry’s abdomen, the moth he’d gotten just last year during the summer. Louis remembers gasping when he first saw the picture on instagram, the way he’d zoomed in on it and wished he could run his fingers over it in real life. 

Before he knows what he’s doing he’s lifting his arm to do exactly that, tracing his fingertips over the ink that moves with the rest of his body. Louis’ vision blurs and his eyes cross as it grows smaller and larger and smaller and larger again but the reaction is instantaneous. Harry slows again where he’d gotten caught up in the rhythm, flinching with a hiss at Louis’ cool fingers exploring the area. 

“You like that?” he asks, tilting his head fondly at Louis, like he’s surprised at the gesture. 

As best he can he nods around the prick inside of his mouth, his cheeks flushing even darker than they’d been before and his hand lowering back down to his lap. Before it can, Harry grabs it and puts it back, holding it to his toned stomach with their fingers laced together as he thrusts. 

Louis’ eyes grow nearly ten times wider at the action. He’s quite literally got Harry’s cock in his mouth, the center of all of his fantasies, but he’s much more affected by the fact that they’re kind of maybe sort of holding hands. 

He’s wanted Harry for a lot of things - his charm, his kindness, his good looks, but also because Harry’s the only other person at school who’s admitted he likes guys too. Louis remembers the exact day he found out, the class he was in, what he was wearing. He shouldn’t have had to have that confirmation that it was okay, he knows, but when Harry came out it was almost like he realized that there wasn’t anything wrong with him. If Harry, star of the footie team and all around popular, good guy could be gay, surely Louis could be too. 

Thinking about all of it makes him dizzy so he closes his eyes again and tries to slacken his throat some more, Harry’s cock slipping deeper as he groans, freezes, and pulls harshly at Louis’ hair. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he moans, pulling out. “Wanna fuck you, baby. Can I? Can I fuck you in my jersey?” 

“Uhm,” Louis coughs once, biting his lip and glancing up at him. Harry looks like a vision, only his cheek and parts of his chest illuminated in the moonlight. He looks around at the locker room, considering all of his former ideas at how his first time would go. 

Harry must sense his apprehension because he leans down to look him in the eye and puts a hand on his shoulder again, rubbing slightly. 

“Hey, Louis - I’m really sorry if I took it too far, I just thought that-” 

He goes silent when Louis kisses him. It’s the bravest thing he thinks he’s ever done in his life and he savors it while he can, noting Harry’s taste and the smooth slide of his thin lips and slick tongue. It’s the first time he’s ever had someone’s lips against his. 

Afraid that he’d misjudged the situation when Harry doesn’t immediately kiss him back, Louis pulls away and brings a hand up to his own lips where they tingle, gauging Harry’s face for some kind of reaction. 

Luckily he doesn’t have to wonder for long because Harry hauls him upward from the bench and holds him around the waist, his nose dipping to kiss Louis properly. Hands trapped against his chest, Louis squeals, his eyelids fluttering shut. When Harry parts from him again, he’s made up his mind. 

He’s done playing it safe. He’s always been the one who nails down every last detail before he does something, the one that asks too many questions and never bends the rules. He and Harry couldn’t be more different but it feels so right, and he doesn’t want to be stuck wondering what could’ve been after they graduate. Not after letting the past four years pass him in the same way. 

“You - you can,” Louis gulps. 

“I can what, baby?” 

“Uhm, you can - fuck me,” he mumbles like a question, unused to talking so bluntly the way that Harry does. It’s something else he’s always admired. 

“You sure? I’m not really mad, Louis, I promise.” 

“No, please,” Louis says, then blushes when Harry grins. “I mean - if you want to.” 

“If I want to?” Harry repeats under his breath. “You say that like I haven’t been imagining it for _years_.” 

Suddenly there are arms lifting Louis off of the ground, spinning him until his back is to the lockers. Harry crowds into his space until there’s none left anymore, until he’s nestled between the hard metal and Harry’s bare chest. 

His kisses turn rougher as he bites down and tugs at Louis’ lower lip, grabbing handfuls of his arse and swallowing down his little gasps. He’s only in his tight briefs now since Harry took off his leggings earlier, and Louis’ grateful Harry doesn’t make fun of them. 

Beside Louis’ head, he fumbles with the locker, knocking things over as he rummages through his things. After a minute he pulls out a packet of lube and a condom, others falling out onto the ground beside them. 

“Have you - uhm, fucked a lot of people in here?” Louis asks shyly, watching them tumble to the floor. 

“Always better safe than sorry, yeah?” he chuckles. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Louis whispers, glancing down between their bodies to spare the awkward silence. 

Their consistency from before breaks into something slower and Louis’ afraid they may lose it all together, the weight of what he’d just accidentally admitted hanging over their heads. 

“Hey, I was just joking,” Harry soothes, tilting Louis’ face back up until he can kiss him softly again. “I’ve had those in there for years now. The guys thought it’d be funny after I took my first date to a dance at homecoming,” he snorts. “Believe me, nothing happened.” 

Harry doesn’t owe him any explanation and he has no right to be jealous or territorial, but Louis’ secretly glad for the explanation. His shoulders untense again under Harry’s careful touch, long fingers massaging his back as he sighs into another kiss. 

“You trust me?” he asks Louis, taking a moment to gently right his glasses again where they’d gone crooked. Louis blushes in thanks. 

At Louis’ nod he begins to explore again, his hands trailing over his spine until they rest over the curve of his arse. He kneads at him until Louis’ arms wind up around his neck and then he slides his fingers underneath the band, finally skin on skin. 

The jersey bunches up around his hips as his boxers are pushed down just below his arse, when Harry grabs and pulls, Louis’ hole fluttering as he’s exposed to the cool air. Harry’s touch disappears for a moment and a cap snicks and echoes in his ears as he keens, returning to him as several wet digits ghost over his entrance. 

“I meant what I said earlier, you know. That I’ve thought about this,” Harry says easily. 

Louis glances up at him in question but only makes it halfway, his open lips landing against the base of Harry’s throat as one of his fingers begins to push inside of him. 

“Oh,” Louis gasps, fingernails digging into his arm as the first knuckle passes his rim. 

“Bet you’ve thought about it, too,” he purrs into Louis’ ear, “Bet you put on my jersey and touch yourself, wishing it was me. Isn’t that right, baby?” 

“H - Harry,” he moans shakily. 

With his lips pressed to the side of Louis’ head he works the digit out and back inside again, feeling worlds different than when Louis tries to do it to himself. Harry’s fingers are much longer and more slender, easily reaching places Louis can’t even when he puts all of his effort into it. 

“V’wanted you from the first time you came to interview me for yearbook. Did you know that?” Harry asks, a second finger rubbing around where the first is nestled inside. “Your hair, your little glasses, you were so nervous, baby.” 

Louis falls into his chest when he manages to get both inside of him. It’s a stretch he doesn’t think he’s felt before, nothing like his own thin fingers, and it isn’t the most comfortable at first. But Harry seems to know what he’s doing, experimenting with the angle like he’s searching for something. 

“I was scared if I asked you out proper you would say no,” he chuckles. “But I could’ve had you this entire time, couldn’t I? You would’ve given it up to me anytime I asked.” 

Unconsciously, Louis nods and Harry laughs again but it sounds more endeared than rude. Through the small holes in the jersey he can feel the heat radiating from Harry’s skin, the heady scent of wet grass and sweat seeping into his nose. He takes Louis’ lips again when he glances upward and scissors both of his fingers, stretching him further than he’s ever been before. 

Unable to keep from reacting, Louis’ mouth drops open and Harry chases him and licks into it, sucking at his tongue. Brown curly hair gets stuck between Louis’ fingers, tugging as Harry’s own continue to fuck in and out of him. 

His legs are bent awkwardly but he can’t bring himself to care about how he looks when he’s so preoccupied with the feeling, straining to take his digits so that they can get on with the next part before either of them change their mind. Not that it seems like they would, Harry visibly just as overwhelmed as he is. 

The digits had worked up to a fast pace but they slow considerably as Harry leans in to nose against his cheek, breathing hot over his mouth and chin. 

“Have you done this before?” 

“No,” Louis breathes, shaking his head gently. 

There’s an imperceptible nod and he can hear Harry gulp. The sound of the lube falling to the floor mixes with the noise of the condom being ripped open, the feeling of Harry slicking himself up and sliding it over his length. 

“I’ll be gentle,” he promises against his lips. 

“Okay,” Louis nods. “How do we - _oh_.” 

He lets out a squeak when he’s lifted into the air, Harry’s arms bulging with his weight. Louis leans into him and wraps both arms around his shoulders and tries not to panic so much that he embarasses himself by flailing and knocking them both over. 

When Harry holds him with one arm and uses the other to tap the head of his cock against Louis’ entrance, everything stills. 

Harry holds his eye contact the best he can, their foreheads pressed together as he lowers Louis down onto his length. Silently Louis’ own mouth falls wide open, his eyes fluttering at the unfamiliar intrusion. Even Harry can’t help his gasp when he instinctively jerks upward as Louis slides down further, clenching sporadically without meaning to. 

As if he’s too overwhelmed by the feeling, Harry tugs Louis’ face to his chest and holds him there, petting over the back of his head and trying to keep still. Louis knows his arm must be tired at this point but he’s too busy getting used to everything to suggest that they move somewhere, too entranced by the way Harry’s tattoo rises up and down with his breathing. He places a hand over it again and watches the muscles contract. 

“You - _ugh, fuck_ \- you okay?” Harry grits. 

“I - I think so, yeah,” Louis says, readjusting his grip around Harry’s shoulders. “S’a lot but - I’m okay.” 

It’s all the permission Harry needs. With his arms hooked underneath Louis’ legs he pushes him up against the lockers. They rattle and shake as he thrusts inside roughly, uncaring of the noisy echo ricocheting around the empty locker room. The cheering coming from outside only reminds Louis that there are people out there, that if someone happened to walk past the building they might know what was happening inside. The thought jars him and he jerks forward, inward on himself with a cry, burying his face into Harry’s warm shoulder. 

“Good boy,” Harry murmurs, a hand coming up to rest on the back of his head to protect him from hitting it as he bounces. 

There’s a pleasant soreness blooming in his lower back but Louis already thinks it’s worth it, sure that he’ll picture this moment for the rest of his life. Harry’s the perfect mixture of rough and tender, of slamming into him while still keeping his lips pressed to the side of Louis’ head, sweet words murmured into his ear that make him shiver. 

“Can’t believe it was you,” he grunts. “That’s so naughty of you, baby, stealing people’s things. You could’ve just asked me and I’d have given it to you.” 

If only it’d been that easy. Louis would have gotten caught much earlier had he not been afraid of getting physically mauled, and not in the good way he is right now. It’s still not quite believable in his head, the fact that he’d gotten caught stealing from the footie captain and his long term crush, and instead of getting yelled at or reported he’s getting fucked. It sounds like something out of one of his dreams where he wakes up panting and flushed and has to change his shorts. 

Harry makes a fist in the jersey and yanks it upward as he jostles Louis, using two fingers to stuff it into his mouth and make him suck on it. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” he growls. “You like the taste of that? The taste of me?” 

When Louis mewls his agreement, he smirks filthily, lips quirking up on one side and a familiar dimple carving out his cheek. 

“Don’t worry, baby. You’ll get more of it soon,” he coos. 

Louis’ glad for that - he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to last much longer. Every time Harry thrusts upward Louis’ prick grazes his hard abs and he moans into the thick fabric, arching forward for more of the pleasant friction. 

Eventually Harry seems to pick up on it and he shifts him onto one arm and the lockers again so he can fit the other one in between them. He wastes no time in stripping Louis’ cock in time with his own thrusts, his experienced touch much nicer than Louis’ usual clumsy one where his wrist gets too tired to even finish himself off. 

“Oh,” he chokes, noises punched out of him the longer Harry keeps up the steady rhythm. When he’s least expecting it Harry rams upward and Louis clenches down and he feels it all over his body, screaming when the angle changes so that he keeps hitting him there. 

Louis pushes back against the lockers and puts both of his hands on Harry’s shoulders, the first time he’s been able to make complete eye contact while he’s been inside of him. He gets hooked on it even though his glasses are only barely holding on to the tip of his pointed nose, breathless and overwhelmed. 

“Not gonna last much longer,” Harry grunts, his hands back on Louis’ arse, spreading him wide so there’s no resistance. He works himself inside for a few minutes longer before his face contorts and he slows, lifting Louis up and off of his cock. 

It happens so fast that Louis gets dizzy, the way he’s spun around and sat back down on the bench. Long fingers fly over Harry’s cock after he rips off the condom, blurry in Louis’ hazy vision, only coherent enough to open his mouth in preparation like he thinks he’s supposed to. 

Only - Harry isn’t aiming for his mouth. Or his face, at all. He’s aiming right for the front of the jersey, over the material of the number printed proudly across Louis’ chest. Over Harry’s number. 

He groans loudly and deeply as he comes and there’s a lot of it, more than Louis’ ever seen before and certainly more than he’s ever come himself. His eyes widen as thick ropes of it land over his chest and stomach, seemingly never ending milky white in contrast with the dark red. 

It takes him a few moments to recover, breathing harshly and doubling over to press his lips to Louis’ as he comes down from it. When he catches his breath, he pulls back. 

Suddenly he bends onto his knees in front of Louis and fixes his hooded gaze right on his own fucked out features. With one hand he reaches down and grabs Louis’ angry prick laying hard against his smaller hip, thumbing diligently over the head with just on the edge of too much pressure. Louis winces and gasps, thrashing both towards and away from the feeling. 

With his other hand Harry uses two of his fingers to scoop up his own cum from the front of it, bringing it up to Louis’ lips and letting it rest over his tongue. Brows dipping inward, Louis’ groans around them, swallows and hitches his hips up. 

“You’re gonna keep this, aren’t you? Probably won’t even wash it,” Harry chuckles tiredly, nosing at his cheek as he arches his back and leans into the heat. “Wear it at night and keep it smelling of me - of _us_.” 

Louis doesn’t think he’s ever been so hard in his life. The ache in his arse is long forgotten for now, blood rushing to his prick that’s curved up toward his tummy and dripping down the side of Harry’s hand. 

He doesn’t stand a chance, not when Harry squeezes the base of his dick before focusing on the tip again, rubbing him both slowly and much too fast. He’s already imagining the things Harry’s suggesting. No matter how filthy it sounds he’s right, Louis wants to keep the jersey unwashed and slip into it late at night when he’s at his dorm or his flat, pull at himself until he can somewhat mimic what Harry’s doing to him now. It won’t be the same, not even close, but he’ll always have this memory. 

A sharp bite on his ear shocks him back into the present, the fingers slipping out of his mouth in favor of pinching at one of his nipples through the thin material. Choking at how wonderful it feels, Louis whines and shakes as everything begins to build inside of him. 

“Yeah, that’s it, come for me, baby. C’mon, Louis,” he purrs. “So good for me.” 

Still vibrating, Louis just barely feels it when he begins to come, numb with the pleasure. It hits him so hard that he doesn’t even register how hard he grips onto Harry, the way that they tumble forward onto the ground as he gets hot come all up their chests. 

The same broad chest breaks his fall as they lay uncomfortably on the ground of the locker room, the aftershocks making him jerk lightly in Harry’s arms. Louis gets drool on the moth tattoo as he struggles to sit up. 

“Shh,” Harry stops him, “just stay with me for a second.” 

As blissfully unaware as he’d been before, reality comes screaming back to him within the following minutes. He tenses even as Harry strokes a careful hand over his back and holds him while he shivers. 

“I’m sorry you missed your game,” Louis says unevenly, swallowing to clear the rasp in his voice. “And that I took your lucky jersey.” 

There’s a small shrug underneath Louis’ cheek but no direct response to his sentiment. It only makes him feel worse and he curls into himself, lip right back between his teeth. He shuts his eyes and tries to focus on evening his breathing, wondering if he’ll have to do a walk - or limp - of shame back to his car afterward. Hopefully it’ll still be worth it when he’s alone again. 

Harry sits up straight and slips his hands underneath Louis’ arms, lifting him gently into his lap and scooting them backwards until they’re sitting against the lockers. It’s much more comfortable than just laying on the floor, and he feels much calmer with his head against Harry’s chest where he can’t see his face. Louis breathes in his scent while he still can and tries to remember it for later. 

“S’that yours?” Harry nods subtly toward Louis’ discarded sweatshirt in the corner where he’d dropped it in a hurry, the logo of the university he’ll be attending printed on the front. 

“My hoodie?” Louis breathes quietly, struggling to look over at it, “Yeah.” 

The small, hot room goes silent again and Louis watches his own fingers dance across a small spot on Harry’s skin. His fingertips are still tingling and he squeezes Harry’s arm once, simply to remind himself where he is, before he lets go and curls his fingers in his own lap instead. 

“I’m going there too. Got a full scholarship to play footie,” Harry rasps, his voice hoarse from yelling earlier on the field. 

“Oh,” is all Louis can muster, still reeling from the fast-paced sequence of events. Harry’s attitude is giving him whiplash and he isn’t sure exactly what he’s saying. 

It hits him a few moments later that they’ll be attending the same school, that this ending won’t be as romantic as he’d planned. Harry going there too means he can tell everyone about what Louis’ really like, about how he’s awkward and disgusting and, sometimes, a thief. Louis’ plan to start over swirls and circles down the drain in his head. 

“Maybe we’ll have some courses together,” Harry hums, stroking his fingers up and down Louis’ forearm. 

“You - you don’t mind that I’m going there too?” 

“What?” He crinkles his brow and pulls back to look down at him. “No, why would I mind that?” Harry swipes some of the hair off of his forehead and shifts them slightly, a sparkle in his eye that hadn’t been there earlier. “You’re not bad, yeah?” 

Outside in the stadium, screaming applause from their side shakes the stands next to the locker room. He and Harry both turn in that direction, listening for some kind of announcement. They’re holding their breaths so much that he can hear Harry’s heartbeat, his arm tightening around Louis as he waits. 

He hopes they win. For Harry’s sake, if not anyone else’s. He deserves it and Louis would know, countless articles he’d written about Harry’s work ethic and passion for the sport and all of the effort he’s put into the team stacking up over the years. If they lose Louis isn’t sure he could handle the subconscious guilt. 

Hesitantly he lifts his fingers again and moves them over to Harry’s hand on his thigh, lacing their fingers up once more. Harry spares him a small smile and squeezes reassuringly, his gaze returning to the small window near the ceiling where the lights from the stadium flood in. 

“ _Well, it was a close call, folks,_ ” the announcer says, “ _but with that last goal we’ve got a clear winner_.” 

It goes so silent that Louis can hear one of the faulty shower heads dripping onto the tile all the way across the room from them. He rolls his lips together and glances up at the light, tightening his grip on Harry’s hand. 

“ _Congratulations to Cheshire_!” 

Between one breath and the next they’re cheering, grinning and giggling into each other’s space. Harry throws a triumphant fist up in the air and sighs, pride obviously radiating off of him for his team. 

He grips Louis by the back of his neck and pulls him in, sealing their smiles together awkwardly. Swallowing down his congratulations, Louis tilts his head to give him better access and basks in the thrill of the moment. 

“You won,” he says breathily when they part from each other, his hand still tangled in Harry’s hair. 

“Yeah,” Harry laughs. “Yeah, we did.” 

Adrenaline still coursing through him, they just stare at each other for a long moment while Harry fixes Louis’ glasses again. His hands drift to Louis’ waist, his thumb rubbing circles over it. 

They’re both knocked out of it when the sound of people flooding the exits outside makes its way to their ears, the team surely not too far from coming back in here to get changed and go celebrate. 

“Shit, come on,” Harry pulls him up, mindful of his soreness, and kneels to help him back into his pants and leggings from before, Louis balancing with his hands on Harry’s shoulders. 

As he dresses himself Louis pulls at the jersey, unsure if Harry’d just been talking dirty or if he really meant that Louis could keep it. If it is his lucky jersey Louis doesn’t want to take it from him. 

With that in mind he begins to pull it up over his head, still the slightest bit insecure as he raises it just over his belly button. 

“Keep it,” Harry stops him, a hand on his arm. “I think you were my lucky charm all along anyway.” 

Louis feels his face flush hot at the compliment. He stutters for a moment and Harry smiles again, stalking back over to him to press his mouth to Louis’ cheek softly. 

“You want to get out of here?” he asks. 

Nodding, Louis takes his offered hand and tries not to remind himself that all of this is all too good to be true. Just as Harry goes to open the door though he frowns with his sweatshirt in his hand, the material of the jersey scraping against his stomach. He stops before they can walk out. 

“What is it?” 

“I - well, I should probably wipe it off first,” Louis blushes, glancing down at the dried cum over the numbers. 

“Oh, yeah,” Harry snorts, grabbing his hand to pull him over to the sink and some paper towels to get it off for him. 

Brimming with excitement, Louis wishes he had someone to tell. He wants to brag and boast and grin until his face gets stuck that way, so happy he can feel it in his bones. But he supposes he doesn’t need to tell anyone really, because Harry’s perfectly content grabbing his hand and taking him outside, and Louis’ still very much in his jersey. He can’t think about what kind of message that sends right now. 

As soon as the door opens there’s an entire team of sweaty footie players flooding inside, congratulating each other with pats on the back and the back of the head. Louis smiles as Harry talks with his teammates, tired and glowing and looking more like the familiar Harry that he’s liked for so many years. 

“Haz, man,” one of them calls out. “We were thinking about going to get some burgers and then back to Jason’s for the night. You coming?” 

Harry glances back to him and nods his head in their direction, his eyes questioning. “You down?” 

“Me?” Louis asks. 

“Yes, you,” he grins fondly. 

Louis’ pretty sure this night is going to go down in history. All of his dreams are coming true in the span of only about two hours or so. What is happening? he wonders, but Harry’s still looking at him like it’s a perfectly normal request, so he bites back his apprehension and nods. 

“Oh, uhm, sure?” 

“Great,” Harry says, turning back to the guys. “We’ll meet you guys there.” 

“Sweet!” 

He’s still reeling with it when they walk to the car with Harry’s hand on his back, when he helps Louis step up into the front seat and buckles him in. 

“Thank you for inviting me,” Louis tells him when they pull out onto the road, still shifting slightly in his seat. 

“Oh, for the burgers?” Harry asks, “It’s no problem. Although, if it’s alright with you, we probably won’t stay that long.” 

Harry looks apologetic when Louis glances over at him with a furrowed brow, and for a moment the nervousness appears in his belly again, sharp and familiar. 

“Why?” 

“Well, because my parents are on vacation and I’ve got the house to myself. I was sort of planning on having a bit of a movie marathon tonight,” he chuckles, taking the turn for the fast food restaurant. 

“Oh,” Louis nods. He understands, he loves a good movie marathon. 

It’s quiet for a moment as they pull into the parking lot, the streets dark but illuminated by the headlights of cars headed home from the game. Everyone seems to be celebrating and, for as long as he’s able, Louis’ going to do the same, both for his own victories and for Harry’s team winning the championship. 

“Would you - y’know, I can drive you back home afterward if you want but - maybe you could come back to mine instead? I can make breakfast in the morning, too,” he offers. And, if Louis isn’t mistaken, there’s a blush high on Harry’s cheeks, visible only barely underneath the fluorescent light of the restaurant sign. 

“Uhm, really?” Louis asks, fumbling over himself as he pushes his glasses back up his nose. 

Harry laughs lightly at him, a boyish grin on his cheeks. “Yes, really.” 

“I would love to,” Louis breathes. He mirrors Harry’s expression and blushes when their fingers lace together again. 

He’d figured that Harry would be the type to want to stay out all night and bask in the glory of his accomplishment, but instead he’s only describing Louis’ perfect idea of a cozy night in. He’ll have to text his parents to let them know he’s staying at a friends house - he can already picture the pure shock on their faces when they get the message. 

Harry leans across the console to cup his cheek again and press his lips against Louis’. “M’really happy it was you,” he whispers against his mouth. 

“Me too,” Louis chuckles. His bottom lip stays tucked between his teeth as Harry pecks him one last time and then pulls back to get out of the car, jogging around to open Louis’ door for him as well. 

These last four years he’s spent so much time thinking Harry was so out of his league. How could they possibly have anything in common if Harry seems so extroverted and charismatic and Louis can’t even bring himself to look up from his studies long enough to maintain a conversation? It shouldn’t work in the slightest, but this, tonight, seemed cosmically right. Maybe there had been something to that glimmer of hope in his chest each time Harry looked his way, each time he interviewed him or shyly congratulated him on a win. Maybe, at the end of the day, they have more in common that they thought. 

Harry pulls open the door and offers a hand to help him out, keeping it there all the way inside of the restaurant. Everyone cheers for him when they get in, and Harry grins and waves but leans down until his lips are right next to Louis’ ear. 

“Let’s see how fast we can get out of here, yeah?” 

Louis grins. Maybe they’ve never been so different after all. 

+

Four years later, when Harry wins his last uni game before moving up to the big leagues, he smiles so brightly at Louis up in the stands that he stumbles over his own feet trying to get to him. 

The giant _I LOVE HARRY_ sign gets in his way but Louis’ quick to put it to the side next to his front row seat. This time everyone gets to see it when Harry picks him up and spins him around, pressing sloppy kisses all over his face. This time he’s in the stands and not behind the fence. 

This time he wears Harry’s old jersey proudly, and when the reporters come up to him after the game Harry tells them all the same thing - that Louis’ his good luck charm. Louis couldn’t hide his smile if he tried. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> if you like this fic, you can reblog it [here](https://soldouthaz.tumblr.com/post/628030503828733952/your-biggest-fan) :) 
> 
> you can also find me on both tumblr and twitter @soldouthaz ! thank you for reading!!


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